


Letting Go

by ConstantlyTiredReader



Series: Control [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (fully consensual), Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Confessions, Cunnilingus, Dubious Consent, Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Ecto-Tongue (Undertale), Ecto-Vagina (Undertale), Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Morning After, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Safeword Use, Safewords, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus/Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Uninformed Consent, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:29:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24418906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantlyTiredReader/pseuds/ConstantlyTiredReader
Summary: Edge, having gained more LV and hating himself for it, goes to see Rus, hoping his fuckbuddy will help him pay for his sins.Rus wants to help him let go and cope in a healthier way.
Relationships: Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale), Spicyhoney
Series: Control [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1763440
Comments: 19
Kudos: 86





	Letting Go

**Author's Note:**

> So, um… if you’ve clicked on this because you’re used to my normally sweet and fluffy spicyhoney fics… well, this isn’t it. Or at least, not to begin with.
> 
> We’ve got some heavier issues here, including but not limited to: severely negative self-image veering into self-hatred, self-harm through sexual acts, and some mild dub con/uninformed consent because the other party isn’t initially aware that he is being used to participate in the harm. There’s also some other things mentioned in the tags (and please, if you think I missed something, feel free to let me know), but those are the heaviest ones and honestly the most disturbing ones in my personal opinion.
> 
> There is lots of comfort and a happy resolution in the last half of the fic. Still, please be careful and click away if you think this is something that could be harmful to your mental and/or emotional wellbeing.
> 
> With that, I hope you enjoy.

Edge storms through Snowdin town, the dust billowing off his person stronger than snow in any blizzard. Even the cockiest of citizens cower out of his path, unaccustomed to seeing their normally controlled captain on a rampage.

Fresh LV boils marrow-deep, surging a hunger for more dust to be shed. With all that he can, Edge pushes that desire away from the forefront of his mind. He has something he needs to do, but there is no way he can leave like this.

Moving automatically, Edge forces his front door open, slamming it shut behind him. He doesn’t lock it; the buzzing in his head is too loud. His brother, lazing about on the couch, can deal with it later. Ignoring Red’s stammer of concern, he marches right up to the bathroom.

He steps directly into the shower, letting the ice water, direct from the river, pour over his bones without doing so much as taking off his boots. Each droplet stings like a microscopic knife. It isn’t enough. Edge can still feel the burn of his new LV, just as unsettled as when the complete and utter _bastard_ they call a king forced him to acquire it hours ago.

The showerhead sputters, a sign that he has been in there for much too long. Hands shaking, Edge turns off the tap. Looking down, he grimaces at the grey, wet paste clinging to most of his clothes, the dingy puddle around his feet; apparently, that wasn’t enough to fully rinse the dust away.

_How appropriate. It isn’t as though the cost of his sins can be washed away with a single shower either._

Marching to his room, he briskly changes into a clean, dry set of clothes. As much as he would relish the brisk relief from walking through Snowdin in a soaked outfit, the pragmatic part of his mind manages to be heard. It would be a terrible idea, and not only because of the risk to his own health. Black jeans, looser than what he typically wears, and the first informal top he grabs should be good enough. Feeling the smooth cotton against clean bone, however, is nearly enough to make him recoil.

_He hasn't earned this comfort._

The coordinates to Underswap are punched out easily; after all this time, he should be able to get to it or Undertale in his sleep. Right now, it’s more than a convenience. Edge honestly isn’t sure if he could do so otherwise.

_Because, what, exactly, is he able to do other than kill people? How much of a hypocrite is he to believe that the other monsters in his world could do better if they tried when he tries all the time and still comes home with nothing but dust on his hands? What good is it to want to be a better person when all he will ever be is a fucking murderer?_

Sins crawling up his spine, Edge grits his teeth as he steps through the portal to Underswap.

Any other day, seeing green grass and sunlight peeking through the basement window of Rus and Blue’s house would be a balm to his soul. Out of the different worlds Edge is familiar with, his own is the only one that hasn’t yet made it to the Surface. Today, however, any possible enjoyment is sapped by the purveying nausea as fresh magic ~~no dust, he didn’t breathe in any dust, it may have coated him from head to toe but he _didn’t breathe it in, he didn’t!_~~ from the EXP churns violently in his system.

_Ha. Violent, just like him._

The door from the basement to the rest of their house is always unlocked from the inside. Blue says that family should be allowed in at all times, and the only ones who have access to the machine he says count as family. It’s an idiotic decision, in Edge’s point of view; someone could break and enter from the basement window easily enough, and there is still the chance of someone untrustworthy gaining access to the machine (and fuck, he doesn’t even want to entertain the thought of someone from his personal shithole finding the machine). In any case, Edge walks right through, up into the empty house. Blue, of course, wouldn’t be home at this time of day and, at a glance, Rus isn’t either.

Well, on the off chance Blue makes it home before his brother, he doesn't ~~deserve~~ _want_ to be persuaded into joining him for tea and puzzles. Decision made, he clomps up the stairs to his alternate's room. In the moment, he doesn't even notice the creaking of the steps beneath his feet, nor the gentle, constant noise coming from the bathroom.

Crossing the threshold into Rus’ room, he paces around the bed, crimson magic hazing around his hands. The need to stir up his alternate’s nerves is intense. Feral energy fuels him, unhelpful yet burning high. He doesn’t care if they fuck or fight — preferably both. He just needs Rus to break him down.

_Break him down into the dirt like the piece of shit he is._

When Rus steps into the room, damp white towel around his waist, Edge doesn’t snarl at him, although it is a close thing. Startling, the Swap skeleton fumbles a bone construct. 

_Good_ , that cynical voice observes, _that he still has the instinct to defend himself from you._

“holy shit on a unicycle, edgelord!” Stretch exclaims, stumbling backward as he dispels the bone attack. One hand lowers to his towel, grasping it firmly in place. "you're gonna give a guy a heart atta— _hey_!" 

Falling with his back against the mattress, he looks up at Edge with wide eye sockets. There's a brief chill in the air, Rus taking in the change in his stats. A moment later, his lids fall to half-mast. Eyelights smoldering a pale gold, he nods with a smirk, removing his hands from his towel. Pouncing on him, Edge shoves it away, putting those ~~too~~ perfect bones on display.

“this is a pleasant surprise and all, but what’s the occasion?”

Briefly, magic surges at the back of his sockets, threatening to escape. _He doesn’t want to talk! He— he can’t._ Taking a deep breath, Edge forces a nonchalant expression. The twist of his skull feels unnatural, but it’s something. “Do I need a reason to have you fuck me?”

“nah,” Rus grins, “no complaints here, precious. just checking.”

“Good.” With that out of the way, Edge digs in his inventory. Silver metal gleams between their skulls as he lets his work cuffs dangle from his hand. Without success, he tries to quash down the small sense of delight as Rus’ eyelights flare with interest. “I thought you might like to see me in these.”

Running a finger against the cold steel, Rus lets out a low whistle. “are you sure you want these ones?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, allowing no room for discussion. He knows Rus likely has a nicely padded set of cuffs for this exact purpose. Even if he didn’t, they could always use his scarf, worn soft with age, or a sheet to tie him to the bed. But he _can’t_. Not today.

“you remember the safeword?”

Knowing that he won’t get this going unless he answers, Edge sighs. “Yes! Just undress me, you asshole.”

Rus snorts, leaning forward to kiss his jaw. “yeah, keep talking dirty to me, edgelord.” 

Excruciatingly slow, he does indeed work on removing his clothes. Edge squirms, something deep inside him squeezing uncomfortably as Rus takes his sweet time, interrupting the process to ply him with kisses. His clavicles, his neck, and his mouth all fall victim to his ~~too sweet affections~~ unwarranted foreplay. Ducking his head away from that honey-sweet mouth, he snarls, “Hurry up!”

“feeling eager today, aren’t we?” Rus laughs, misinterpreting the source of his irritation.

“Yes,” he agrees. The lie tastes bitter on his tongue. Rus obliges him, though, so it doesn’t matter.

Cuffs in hand, Rus guides him across the bed. He holds up his free hand when Edge tries to turn his back to the headboard to get into position, stopping him.

“i wanna see your face,” he explains when Edge balks. “if that’s okay, of course,” he adds, voice questioning.

Resisting the urge to grit his teeth, he forces out, “It’s fine.”

Edge allows him to take his hands in his own. Closing his eyes, he pushes back his frustrations as Rus arranges things so he can be cuffed facing the wooden beams of the headboard. He _wants_ the strain of his arms being pulled behind him, but this will work. He can still make this work. At the clink of the handcuffs locking around his wrists, he opens his eyes. Minutely, this makes him feel better; at least now, he knows he can’t hurt Rus.

~~_Just himself._ ~~

Once everything is in place to his satisfaction — including far too many checks of “are you _sure_ they aren’t too tight,” and “i just wanna make sure you’re comfortable,” — Rus eels his way back down, reclining against his pillows. “ready?” he asks, grinning brightly.

In answer, he grinds his hips down against Rus. Hard. Crimson sparks against honey and Rus’ gasp echoes throughout the room. Raising his hips, Edge shimmies against Rus’ lap, trying in vain to catch the head of his cock in his entrance. Momentarily, he regrets bringing in the handcuffs; it would be so much easier to impale himself on him if he had access to his hands.

“whoa there,” Rus chuckles, voice low with arousal. “maybe you should slow your horses a bit, cowboy.” He waggles his fingers, the tip of his tongue appearing through his teeth. “how ‘bout you let me get you nice and ready?”

Droplets of sweat go flying as Edge viciously shakes his head. “No. I want to ride you. Now.”

“well, if that’s what you want, then giddy-up edgelord.” Reaching between them, he lines his cock up between his folds.

 _Perfect_.

Wrists jerking against their restraints, Edge sinks down on Rus’ cock too fast. He doesn’t allow himself a break to adjust.

_He needs it to hurt, needs to feel the stinging burn in his cunt. It’s his penance, forbidding himself to go numb to the evil lurking in his soul._

“fuck, you’re tight!” Rus places his hands up on Edge’s shoulders, burying a few more curses into his arm. “edge, maybe we should slo-oh- _oh!_ ”

Bouncing harshly on Rus’ lap serves surprisingly well to cut that idea off. Edge arches his back as far as he can as he rides him, sharpening the pressure on his wrists. Steel digs between his joints, pain searing.

_But it isn’t enough._

“Harder!” he snaps as Rus’ hands fly down to grip at his iliac crests. “ _Harder_!”

Those hands move away again. Raking blunt phalanges over his ribs, Rus asks, “like this?” 

“Yessssss,” Edge hisses out, relieved. He keeps his brutal pace, watching as his bones light up in irritation at the rough scratches.

_This. This is what he needs. What he deserves._

The next few minutes are a haze to Edge. Bone clacks loudly against bone, his breath shuddering out each time their pelvises touch. The pull of the handcuffs is the only thing preventing him from falling back on the mattress completely. Voice cracking, he snaps his arms downwards to emphasize his repeated demand. “Harder!”

Worry tinging his tone, Rus starts, “edge…”

“Make me _bleed_ , ashtray! You can fucking summon the intent.” Edge snaps his arms down again, heedless of his throbbing wrists. “Just —”

“cayenne.”

The world stops at that one quiet, coldly spoken word.

Eyes focusing dimly, Edge stares down at Rus. Never in all the time that he has known him has he seen his alternate so deadly serious. This, combined with the usage of their safeword, has him freeze completely. Legs shaking, he hovers halfway down Rus’ dick, too stunned to do anything else. Rus has to physically lift Edge’s hips the rest of the way up, his still-hard cock slipping out from his pussy.

Enunciating slowly and with care, Rus motions to the headboard. “i’m gonna take these off, okay? _then_ , we need to have a talk.”

Edge watches, still somewhat dazed, as Rus turns to unlock the cuffs. Gently — _too gently_ , that voice in his head screams — he massages the chafed, bruised bones of his wrists. He pauses at Edge’s left scaphoid, frowning slightly. There lies a hairline fracture, new and with obvious cause.

A new sense of guilt, for once unrelated to the monsters he has killed, stirs up within him. 

“hey, hey, hey,” Rus says consolingly, guiding his slumped form beside him against the pillows, “it’s gonna be okay.” He takes a moment to tuck a sheet around the both of them. Still holding his injured wrists, he asks, “do you know why i used the safeword?”

Kicking against the blanket, Edge mutters, “It doesn’t matter.” He shouldn't have come here. Not when he is still so unsettled from his LV. He should have waited until he had regained all of his control so Rus wouldn’t have suspected anything and they wouldn’t have the need for this conversation.

“yes, it does.” Rus pauses, although it is unclear if he’s waiting for a response or thinking — or both. Eventually, he sighs, resuming his gentle massage of Edge’s carpals. “you’re not acting like yourself today. i’m... i’m cool with some rougher stuff; you know that, edgelord. but today, you were really pushing the boundaries today. you were being really reckless with yourself.” Another pause. The awful serious tone has returned, with an extra heaping helping of disbelief. “you asked me to hurt you, edge. with _intent_.”

Yes, and he absolutely fucked that up. Sadism and masochism are one thing; in a healthy relationship, there is no cruelty to the pain inflicted, only the intent to bring pleasure and release. What Edge asked of Rus was insane. Few monsters, even in Edge’s messed up world, will actively work up harmful intent during sexual situations. And to make matters worse, he asked a fucking Judge to do it — any damage done to him would have only been multiplied as Rus’ KR would have poisoned him through his LV.

_He should have never come here._

Despite this, he still protests, “It doesn’t matter.” The statement is weaker this time. Edge can feel the weight of Judgement upon him, even though he knows the Judge’s presence isn’t there within Rus right now. It’s just Rus, his stupidly smart and charming and infuriating and attractive fuck buddy.

Despite this, he might as well have searched deep in the recesses of Edge’s soul. Making direct eye contact, his hands still. Only then does he ask the damning question.

“what’s wrong, edge?”

At first, he bites his tongue. Rus doesn’t need to know. _No one_ needs to know. This is Edge’s problem, and Edge’s problem alone.

But he made it Rus’ problem. As soon as he came here, it has been Rus’ problem too. If anything, Rus deserves to know how Edge was trying to use him. That way, he can break off their little arrangement and Edge no longer has to be his problem.

“I…” Trailing off, he takes a deep breath, gathering his words. Then, he makes the mistake of looking Rus directly in the eyes. Unintentionally, he rushes out, “Why am I such a bad person?”

“edge, what makes you think you’re a bad —”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he interrupts, bitter with self-loathing. “It’s nothing new. You’ve said it yourself: I’m nothing but a filthy murderer.” Laughing past the growing lump in his throat, he continues, “In more ways than one, actually; I’m still not sure I got rid of all the dust before I fucking came here. How does that make you feel, Judge? Here I am, ready to admit all my sins, and you’re here trying to convince me that I’m not an irredeemable scumbag. Is that right?”

Rus remains silent, which only fuels Edge to continue his rant.

“Do you want to know the worst part? Sometimes, I actually believe my childish fantasies, that maybe I could be better than this. Isn’t that idiotic? Even if fate suddenly made it so I didn’t have to keep doing this, it doesn’t magically make all my wrongs go away. It doesn’t make all the monsters I’ve killed come back to their families. 

“It doesn’t take away all the times I’ve hurt you and Red and the others.”

Breathing hurts; his chest feels so tight, he wonders if he is getting any air in whatsoever. Somehow, during the process of speaking, his body has pressed closer to Rus’, as though subconsciously begging for the comfort he could never be bold enough to ask. Rus obliges, running a scarless hand, one that has never felt the simultaneous pleasure and revulsion that freshly shed dust brings, up and down his back.

Then, quieter than anything he has ever said, Edge brokenly asks, “Why can’t I be a better person, Rus? Why?” He hiccups. “Why does it still hurt?”

Slowly, giving him time to pull away, slender arms wrap around him. Edge lets him, the weak, undeservingly needy part of himself thirsty for the touch. With an ease that speaks of years of experience, Rus murmurs, “it’s okay, edgy. let it out. let it all out.”

And let it out he does.

Sobbing tearlessly, Edge curls up against Rus’ bare ribs, legs tucked onto his lap. His bones clatter shamefully, droning out the words Rus whispers against the top of his skull. All he can parse out is the sweet, soothing cadence. After a while, Rus begins rocking them back and forth, the subtle sway reminding him of the time Papyrus had convinced him to go fishing and they spent hours under the heat of the sun, their boat bobbing across slow and gentle waves.

Why did he open up like this?

Normally, Edge is an expert at shielding himself, keeping everything all locked up tight inside where no one can tear into that weakness. In a world like his own, it’s beyond necessary; showing that kind of vulnerability would be suicide, and the consequences would go far beyond himself. 

Maybe it’s still the instability that accompanies an LV rush. Rus said it himself: Edge has been acting recklessly today. That foolish abandon doesn’t have to be only about the sex. If anything, this could have been worse, if it wasn’t Rus that he was with.

Or maybe, it was seeing the distorted mirror of his own face, strange but so much _better_ than him, looking back in concern. Wanting to know what’s in the depths of Edge’s mind, but not so he can use it against him. But if not for blackmail, why — why would Rus —

“shhhh, everything’s going to be alright, edgelord.” Hearing that familiar nickname, Edge pays attention more easily when Rus continues, “how ‘bout let’s try breathing together, okay?” Rubbing small circles with his thumb over Edge’s sternum, he prompts, “in… and out. in... and out. there you go, edgelord. good job.”

Between shuddering breaths, he gasps, “Don’t patronise me.”

“i wouldn’t dream of it. i’m just speaking the truth.” Still rocking, Rus hums some quiet, nonsensical melody. Between that and all the calming intent coming from their bone to bone contact, it’s almost enough to lull Edge completely. 

Almost.

Of course, even the strongest intent isn’t fully effective if the receiver fights against and if there is one thing Edge is well-versed in, it’s fighting.

“Why do you even care?” he finally asks, voice hitching as another wave of kind intent ~~that he still isn’t fucking _worthy of_~~ hits deep.

Rus stills, his aura of serenity dwindling out. Wiping Edge’s cheekbones — despite the lack of any damp magic — his voice is soft, non-accusatory. “why wouldn’t i care, edgelord?”

“Because you hate me.”

Even without tilting his head up to verify, he can hear Rus’ frown. “and why, exactly, do you think that?”

“I— I don’t—” Edge clenches his teeth shut, swallowing back a whine.

“do you really think i’d let someone i hate come into bed whenever?” Voice shaking, Edge can _taste_ Rus’ hurt when he continues, “that i’d offer to let him stay the night?” 

“You don’t have to like a person to fuck them.”

“maybe,” Rus admits, “but i sure as hell like you!”

Edge shakes his head in disbelief. “Rus…”

“you really don’t have a clue, do you? i know we didn’t have the best start when we met, but my opinion of you has changed so much since then. edge, you are the most determined monster i know. even when the entire fucking universe is against you, you still hold firm to your beliefs. dude, i can barely have as much faith as you have in others, and my world is so much nicer than yours.” He pauses, and Edge looks up to see his soft gaze, filled with admiration ( _how?_ ). “i don’t know how you do it.”

Opening his mouth, Edge tries to find the words to protest him. To tell him how he’s wrong and has been deceived. But nothing comes.

“stars, edge, i’ve seen you around the human — both of them. you care so much for chara and frisk, and not just them. your brother, my bro, hell, sans and papyrus too. i know that, if you had to, you would protect them all at the risk of your own life, without hesitation.” Face heating with a pretty flush, he says, “me too, i hope.”

Clearing his throat, he squeezes Edge’s hand, a tender gesture. “you are more than your lv, papyrus. and i can’t imagine life without you in it.”

Without his permission, tears well up, the salty magic stinging the old scar of his cracked socket. It’s humiliating. He can’t remember the last time he cried. Probably, he was little more than a babybones and wasn’t smart enough to hide his fear. He knows for a fact that he’s never done this in front of anyone who wasn’t his brother. Still, he can’t stop his tears from rolling over his cheeks, dripping onto the white sheet covering them.

Two fingertips straying underneath his jaw, Rus tilts his head up. His eyelights, such a beautiful honeyed gold, are softened with concern. “what’s wrong?”

“You deserve more than a Fell verse piece of shit like me.”

This only prompts Rus to draw him closer. Gangly limbs shift awkwardly to envelop Edge in a full-bodied hug. Settling his chin over the top of his skull, Rus murmurs, “oh, sweetheart.” His next words are so quiet, Edge isn’t sure whether or not Rus actually intended for them to be heard. “you really have no idea how much i love you.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Relishing in the silence between them, Edge just sits, processing what he just heard. The idea that Rus might have feelings for him — _good_ feelings — it’s… it’s actually a rather nice one. A _really_ nice one.

But the more he thinks about it, the more torn up he is, shame and more hope than he has allowed himself in years circling around in a frenzy. The tiny spark of hope grows stronger the longer they sit. Yes, he doesn’t deserve someone like Rus. Tale verse monsters like him shouldn’t be subjected to the darkness of his LV. Yet, Rus is still here, still holding him close and sharing that unspeakably kind intent while whispering sweet words to him. Why would someone like Rus waste so much energy on him if he genuinely didn’t care?

After… he doesn’t even know how much time, Rus strokes his cheek. It’s at the stage between stickily damp and crusty from dried tears. As though sensing his discomfort, Rus reaches across to his bedside table. He pulls out a kleenex, dampening it with his water bottle before wiping the tear tracks away. “how are you feeling?”

The urge to deny any problems and to put his mask of ‘Great and Terrible’ back on is instinctive. Barely, he manages to restrain himself from doing so, biting his still summoned tongue. He instead cranes his neck, looking up to Rus. “I… I’m not sure,” he grudgingly admits. Even if it’s the truth, it feels like the wrong answer.

Pleasant shivers course through him as Rus runs a hand over his coronal suture. “okay. thanks, edgelord.”

“Why are you thanking me?” _He didn’t answer the question._

“because,” he says. “you were honest with me.” He lowers his hand to rest it lightly on his chest. “you shared a lot of vulnerability with me, precious, and i’m so proud of you.”

Edge shudders, the words hitting him deep and low. Looking down, his face heats and he squeezes his thighs together in embarrassment. He’s always found that his magic tends to get… stirred up… after an LV rush. All that extra energy has to go somewhere, and somewhere is apparently his cunt. Even after everything that happened, it still hasn’t dismissed itself. If anything, his body is more pent up than before, dampness finally threatening to appear.

Even through the thin covering of the sheet, the glow of his arousal is obvious. He can tell the exact moment Rus notices it, a small sound escaping his mouth. He is preparing to come up with an excuse to leave and deal with the problem himself when Rus squeezes his femur.

“you know… they say that actions speak louder than words.”

“They do,” Edge agrees, hopes raising once more.

His optimism proves not to be in vain. Voice sultry smooth, Rus asks, “want me to show you how much i care?”

Hot magic wells up in his mouth. Biting his tongue, Edge nods his consent.

Smiling, Rus kisses the top of his skull. “do you want to lie down for me?” 

Edge climbs off his lap, letting the sheet fall away as he waits for direction. It gets laid down flat on the mattress, shielding the rest of the bedding. Rus urges him to get on his back. 

“there we go.” Leaning down, Rus kisses him tenderly and Edge finds himself craning his neck, wanting more. His mouth is mildly sweet, like the honey he guzzles so frequently, offset by the faint bitterness from his cigarettes. Too soon, Rus pulls back. “is this okay?”

“Y-yes,” he moans shakily.

“all right. just remember, you can use your safeword no matter what, okay? even if you just want to slow down or change things up.”

“I know.” He doesn’t have to pause and weigh the risks of him adding, “I promise I’ll use it if I need to.”

Rus’ mouth briefly meets his once more. “that’s what i like to hear.”

Allowing his eye sockets to fall shut, Edge sighs as Rus works on kissing his way down his body. Special attention, he soon realises, is paid to each scar littering his body. Small, feathery kisses to the chips covering his hands and arms. A wet tongue swiping onto the edge of the deep crack dividing his right scapula into two jagged plains. His ribs — always the easiest target — earn plenty of lavishing.

Subconsciously, his head tilts to the side as soon as Rus laps languidly at the invisible scar bisecting his cervical vertebra. When Rus starts speaking against the heated bone, however, his eyes fly back open.

“you’re so strong, edge — and i don’t just mean physically speaking.” Blunt teeth nibble at his neck. Unable to hold back a whine when they pull away, Edge can only watch as Rus smirks down at him. “although,” he says, fingers trailing up and down his arms, “you are pretty damn ripped.”

Edge pulls his arm away from the touch. “Don’t tease.”

“i mean it.” His skull ducks back down, hovering over the center of Edge’s ribcage. “every day, you do things i can’t even _imagine_ , and you still try so.” Rus plants a firm, warm kiss to the top of his sternum. “damn.” Another kiss, just below the last. “hard.” Here, he wraps his mouth entirely around the xiphoid process, sucking and swirling his tongue around at the sensitive bone.

“Rus,” he groans. All other words escape him. His head falls back against the pillows and all he can do is lie back and listen as Rus keeps finding all the right places to further stir up his desire.

“you’ve managed to bring order to your people, sweetheart.” Spine arching, Edge tries to push into Rus’ hands, following the lingering touches to cartilage and bone. “i remember what your snowdin used to be like. first time i was brave enough to go to grillby’s, it wasn’t pretty. nothing compared to what it is now.”

Despite himself, he shakes his head. “Not enough,” he protests. A gasp breaks off into a moan, shivering at the gentle tweak to his coccyx.

“maybe, but you’re still striving to make things better. you can only do so much by yourself, precious, and you’re already going far and beyond.”

Returning to his self-appointed mission of covering every single inch of Edge’s body in kisses, Rus gives him plenty of time to soak those words in. And fuck, it feels _good_. After months of casual fucking, Rus knows his body so well. With each touch, he can feel himself growing slicker and slicker.

Taking his own _tortuously_ leisurely time, Rus trails his way down. When he places his mouth directly over Edge’s clit, running his wet tongue smoothly across the swollen bed of magic, his full body jolts up in pleasured surprise. Barely, his flailing legs avoid accidentally kicking Rus.

“you still okay with this?” he checks, massaging sweet circles on the insides of his femurs.

Clenching his hands, he shoves back the itch to push Rus’ skull back down. “ _Please_.”

Rus does not disappoint. He kisses around his outer folds, gently tonguing him as slim hands hold him open. Each lick sends sparks kindling though his body, bold and electrifying. Beneath him, the sheets rustle from his constant squirming, bunching up at the base of his spine. Magic builds up in his mouth. If it weren’t for the fact that it would take him away from his pussy, Edge would pull Rus up, sharing all his desperation in the tangling of their tongues. His voice sounds garbled as he whines, “Rus!”

This gets Rus to look at him, head popping up from between his legs. His eyelights fuzzy with arousal and teeth smeared with traces of crimson, he asks, “should i stop?” 

Untrusting of his tongue to convey the message of ‘absolutely fucking not’, Edge pleads, “More?”

“for you?” The tip of his tongue peaks out of the corner of his mouth, tempting as can be, as he smirks. “gladly.”

Immediately, Rus delves back down. That clever tongue of his works laps around his entrance, sliding delectably. Then, oh so slowly, he pushes it inside, inching his way into his pussy.

“Oh!” Edge cries out. His claws knead at the sheets; faintly, he can hear fabric tearing. 

His grasp on the thin cloth only keeps tightening, hands twitching. Rus concentrates more magic to his tongue, lengthening the flexible construct until it can easily press into that special place. Inside him, it curls and digs deep, stimulating his walls from every angle imaginable — and more. 

It doesn’t take long for Edge to come hard around that tongue. Pussy clenching around the sparking magic, his hands scrabble desperately at Rus’ skull, crying out. Rus takes him by the hips, lifting them to get an even better angle. His breath hitches, letting the waves of pleasure overwhelm him.

But it doesn’t end there.

With fingers glistening with Edge’s magic, Rus glides around his clit, drawing the gratifying sensations out longer. While he does, he carefully withdraws his tongue, even as Edge’s walls continue to tighten, trying to suck him back in.

“wanna keep going?”

Swallowing, he manages to sound mostly coherent as he says, “ _Fuck_ , yes.”

“let me know when it becomes too much,” is the last thing Edge hears before that remarkable tongue returns inside him and has him gasping out once more.

Rus continues to wring orgasm after orgasm out of him until Edge’s mind is muddled completely with bliss. He finds himself raising his hips into it, automatically seeking after more. His legs can’t make up their minds to stray farther apart to give Rus better access or to squeeze tight and keep him there. With his magic still so active, he doesn’t think anything of the way it keeps crackling, nor the way the crackling suddenly comes to a halt with a great sense of relief.

Then again, he honestly doesn’t have much thinking going on in general as of right now.

What he does notice, however, is when Rus comes to an abrupt stop. Rather than checking in on him, or perhaps switching up techniques, though, he just stares down at Edge, not saying a word. When he looks down, he joins Rus in his surprise. Just above the lips of his dripping cunt, a newly formed cock stands firmly erect, leaking crimson precome. He can feel his face heat up more than it was already.

“Oh,” he utters, stunned at himself.

Rus… he’s never shown Rus this part of him in any of their previous encounters. Always just his pussy, only his pussy. He didn’t mean to —

Rus catches his hands, preventing him from gouging into the mattress. The warmth bleeding in from his contact encourages Edge to unfurl them. Maintaining eye contact, he asks, “do you want me to…?” When Edge doesn’t answer right away, he begins to pull away. “or, i…”

“No!” Realising how that might sound, he grabs Rus’ hands, holding them close. Immediately, he clarifies, “I mean, yes! Just.” Gathering himself, he takes a deep breath. “I’d like it, if you want.”

Thankfully, Rus nods in understanding before Edge can make more of a fool of himself. Wetting his hand using the juices from Edge’s pussy, Rus wraps his hand around his dick. At first, it’s a touch cold. Any complaints vanish from his mind, however, at the first upward stroke.

“oh, now isn’t this gorgeous?” Breath catching in his throat, Edge clamps down on his hand. He stares, wide-eyed, as Rus continues to croon, “absolutely gorgeous, precious. just like the rest of you.” Out of nowhere, his grip tightens. Edge lurches up, wanting more even as Rus clucks his tongue chidingly. “nuh-uh, no shaking your head at that, edge.” He didn’t even realise he was. “you are so damn attractive. even from the start, i’ve known that; anyone would.”

Before Edge can even consider denying that, he finds himself holding back a garbled cry. Rus, his hand still gripping his dick at the base, wraps his sinuous tongue around it, using the appendage to jerk him tightly. Tears begin building up in his sockets; they water as Edge pries them open to watch his head bob. 

He gasps wetly when Rus’ other hand sneaks back to his pussy. Pace unfaltering around his cock, he runs his fingers through Edge’s folds, slicking them up nicely. A single finger, swiftly followed by another, slip inside him with great ease. But Edge is left aching for more.

“Please,” he moans, grinding up against his hand as Rus scissors him open. “Give me— I need—”

“this?” Rus asks, raising his voice to be heard over Edge’s panting. He adds a third finger, and Edge arches up in response.

With Rus working both his pussy and his cock at the same time, his peak builds up sooner than he can process. Words pouring from his mouth, he gasps, “Oh, I’m close! Rus, I’m gonna— oh shit, I’m gonna—”

Rus envelopes his cock with his mouth before Edge can finish the half-formed thought. Wonderfully lush, he hums and swallows around him deliberately. That is all it takes. One swallow. Two swallows. Three, and Edge bucks his hips up, bones shaking as he spills down into Rus’ throat, pussy spasming around his fingers.

Frantically, Edge reaches down to tap his shoulders. “C-cayenne,” he begs weakly. _Too much_. All the pleasure he had been enjoying until now suddenly shifts into too much, overstimulation taking over as tremors wrack his body.

The second cooler air hits them, his genitals desummon. Splatters of red remain, decorating his pelvis and femurs. And Rus, who is busy picking his towel up from where it ended up on the foot of the bed. He quickly douses the edge with his water bottle and— Edge hisses, forcing himself not to kick his alternate as he uses it to wipe the worst of it away.

“sorry,” he says sympathetically, still scrubbing at the various nooks and crannies that make up his pelvis. “i know it’s sensitive, but i know you; i’m sure you’d rather me do it now before it has a chance to dry.” Rus, of course, is right: he itches uncomfortably just thinking about it. It doesn’t make the experience any better, though.

Edge doesn’t hide his relieved sigh when Rus finally finishes. Worn out, he lets Rus tuck a clean blanket around him and scooch him into a half-reclined position against his pillows; his legs are jigglier than a moldsmal at the moment and doing so himself would have been a far more difficult process.

Sidling up next to him, Rus lays an arm around him. “you did so good,” he murmurs against his skull. Edge wiggles closer to his side, his eyes falling shut as he basks in his warmth. “is there anything you need?”

Humming a non-answer, he shakes his head. Somehow, it feels too light and too heavy at the same time. As far as he is concerned, everything’s perfectly fine right now. It takes too much effort to put much thought into it when he’s as happy — he’s actually _happy_ — as he is right now. In his chest, his soul is thrumming loudly, but for once in his life, it’s in a good way. Warmth swims fuzzily through his entire body.

In short, Edge feels the calmest he has in who knows how long.

“okay,” Rus laughs. It’s a nice sound. He should make it more often. “do you just wanna stay here for a bit?”

Edge nods. His expression softens into a near-smile as Rus pulls him back into his lap. Cuddling — especially cuddling after sex — doesn’t count as laziness, and they both know it. Warm intent flows from Rus’ body, lulling Edge in addition to his subdued humming.

That, however, is not the only heat that Edge feels.

Looking up blearily, he observes, dismayed, “You didn’t come.” The evidence is right there, hot and hard even with the blanket acting as a barrier between them.

Edge watches as he reaches down, wryly adjusting himself. “it’s fine, edgelord.” Before he can argue, Rus says, “tonight, i wanted _you_ to feel good, okay?” Quietly, Edge nods, tucking his chin down onto his chest. “good. now, do you want something to drink? we’ve got water, tea, milk —”

“Tea,” he blurts out, realising all at once how parched his magic is. “If you don’t mind.”

“not at all, precious. not at all.” He kisses Edge’s skull and settles him, blanket and all, onto the bed. “i’ll be back in a minute, okay? shout if you need anything.” 

Grabbing a pair of basketball shorts from a messy pile on top of his dresser, Rus shimmies his way into them as he heads downstairs. The patter of his feet on the stairs grows softer and softer, until the only thing Edge can hear is his own breathing.

Propped up only by the modest stack of pillows, Edge lies back and relaxes. Deep-set tension he didn’t even realise he had has leached out of his body; he now understands how the lazybones can manage to nap so bonelessly during movie nights. Idly, he rubs the edge of the blanket between the tips of his fingers. It’s soft and fuzzy, just like how Rus’ hoodies look.

Speaking of Rus, he makes his return. His hands are full, a large mug of tea in one hand and a large plate covered with orange slices, cheese strings, and crackers balances precariously on the other. Lacking pockets, a tube of… _something_ … sticks awkwardly out the waistband of his shorts.

“careful,” he warns, handing over the mug, “it’s hot.” Shifting the plate to be held with both hands, he explains, “thought you might want some snacks too.”

“We’re going to get crumbs all over the bed,” he complains mildly, popping a saltine right into his mouth.

“my bed, my problem.” Rus settles down beside him, joints creaking. “how are you feeling now?”

Edge sips his tea. It isn’t nearly as hot as he was expecting, which is probably a good thing. “Better,” he decides. “Less…” Gesturing loosely with his free hand, he ends the unraveling thought and grabs an orange slice. It’s pleasantly sweet with a nice hint of tang and very juicy.

“you look it,” Rus smiles.

Both of them keep snacking away. As soon as he starts eating, Edge belatedly realises how hungry he actually is. After eating approximately an orange and a half, two cheese strings, and a few handfuls of crackers, he tries to convince Rus to share some of his tea. Protests that he doesn’t need it like Edge does fall on deaf ears.

“You just don’t want to drink it because it isn’t three-quarters honey,” Edge accuses, letting the mild flavour of chamomile wash over him.

“i mean, you’re not wrong.”

Edge snorts quietly, letting the heat of the mug seep into his scarred hands. Hesitantly, he stares down into the pale tea. “About earlier…”

Chewing the top right off his cheese string (like a heathen), Rus mumbles, “whattabout earlier?”

Edge — barely — holds back a sharp comment about eating with his mouth full. That isn’t the important thing right now. “Were you actually serious? About loving me?” Rus opens his mouth, but before he can interject, he hurriedly explains, “Because you may have those feelings for me, but you can choose not to act on them because feelings aren’t always the wisest thing to follow, and I want to know before I let myself hope too much.” By the time he finishes, his voice is uncharacteristically soft, dwindled down to nothing.

Cheese string half-eaten, Rus sets the mostly empty plate aside. Holding Edge close again, Rus speaks half into his shoulder. “i’m pretty sure. i’ve, uh, i’ve actually been thinking about asking you out or something for a while? i just never really knew how to bring it up.”

“Oh.”

“yeah.” There is a brief silence, heavier than the last. Then, Rus sits up abruptly, jostling Edge. Taking the mystery tube — green magic-infused salve Edge soon sees — out of his shorts, Rus says, “almost forgot; for your wrists.”

Right.

Looking aside, Edge lays his arms out for Rus. His fingers are ticklishly gentle as they run over the bruised bone, laying it on in thick layers. The tingling sensation is only accentuated as the salve begins to work its magic. Daubing on extra to his fractured scaphoid, which glows brightly as the green magic settles in, Rus asks if he has any other injuries to tend to. Edge can honestly shake his head. He doesn’t imagine the way Rus’ eyelights scan over his body, double-checking, nor does he imagine the relieved slump of his shoulders when he confirms that as the truth.

As soon as Rus deems everything up to his standards — which, in regards to healing, is apparently far beyond what Edge would qualify as satisfactory — he kisses each hand above the carpals, narrowly avoiding the sticky salve.

“All better?” Edge questions.

“all better,” he agrees with a smile. For good measure, he adds one more kiss.

Soon, they both settle down. Rus, curling behind Edge once he turns onto his side, sighs contentedly, laying an arm around his waist. His breath is warm against the back of his spine. Mumbling sleepily, Rus asks him to let him know if he needs something.

Edge drifts off without thinking about it, his soul finally fully settled with Rus lying within reach.

* * *

Edge wakes up slowly, squinting against the unusual brightness of the room. Why the fuck is it so bright? Flipping to his other side, away from the window — _window?_ — he makes out a tall, blurry form standing beside him.

“don’t freak,” the blur that must be Rus says before Edge can even summon a weapon. His arms raised in surrender, he adds, “you’re still in our place in underswap. you kinda conked out last night, and i didn’t wanna wake you. plus,” he adds, somewhat sheepishly, “i kinda fell asleep too.”

Edge sits up, assessing himself. Rus must have gotten him into a makeshift nightshirt before he himself fell asleep. Surprisingly enough, it’s in a dark cotton rather than something garish. Since when does Stretch own something that isn’t bright enough to glow in the darkest cave? Looking down, the answer comes as he takes in the visual pun. Although, he must begrudgingly admit that there is something charmingly amusing about the grumpy cartoon ‘a- _mean_ -o acid’. 

Then, he sees the time plastered over Rus’ alarm clock and nearly jumps out of bed. “You let me sleep in this long?!”

Rus shrugs, unfazed by the shock in his voice. “you had a long, hard night last night. yesterday in general, really. you more than earned it. oh,” he adds, “i also texted red for you already. he wanted me to tell you not to worry about getting back; he’s got an excuse for you being gone.”

Again, this isn’t very surprising. Edge gained… a lot of EXP yesterday. And that’s putting it mildly. Even King Asgore himself would take a few days in isolation after that, and he’s already half-mad from dust lust. Absolutely no one in Underfell would question any absence from him for the next week or so.

Guilt stabs him. He was careless in coming here so soon. He shouldn’t have put Rus, who only has one fucking HP, in danger like that. He —

He calms down again as Rus runs an aimless hand over his scapula.

“Thank you.”

“no problem.” Rocking on the balls of his feet, he says, “blue’s already gone to work, but he left some eggs and bacon and stuff for breakfast. or you could make something, if you wanna.”

Spirits high, Edge tries lightly teasing, “What, are you not going to offer your boyfriend some breakfast?”

The words barely escape his mouth when he wishes he could take them back. He and Rus hadn’t officially decided on _that_ last night, even if it had heavily been implied by Rus that they would like to be a couple. What if he regrets some of what he said when he was trying to reassure Edge?

But graciously, Rus just grins, chuckling lightheartedly. “i would, if it weren’t for the fact that all i can offer is watery, burnt microwave oatmeal.”

Reassured, Edge offers a smile of his own in return. Rus brightens even more. “But does it have the little dinosaurs?”

“noooooo. but we do have that cookies and creme stuff.”

“Hmmm, hard sell, but I suppose I’m going to have to turn you down, then.”

“darn,” he sighs, snapping his fingers in mock dismay. Edge finds himself holding back another smile. “eggs and bacon it is.” 

Rus offers up a hand to get him out of bed. Edge takes it, not letting go as they make their way downstairs, fingers entwining.

Breakfast act further as a balm. Spending time with Rus, one on one like this, is so different, but so nice. 

So nice, in fact, that he stays most of the day, using the excuse of needing time to recover from the previous day’s difficulties. Of course, it helps that Rus’ idea of ‘recovery’ involves a copious amount of cuddling. And kisses, slow and sweet. Edge would be a fool to turn his now official boyfriend down.

He can’t convince himself to stay another night, however. Even if Red knows where he is, Edge doesn’t want to be gone that long. Plus, his brother probably owes him a long talk because, “fuck boss, not only didja storm out on me, but the only reason i knew you ain’t dust was because the one hp beanpole had the bright idea to let me know that ya were bonin’ each other all night long and i thought i raised ya t’be smarter than that, dumbass.”

“hey,” Rus says, helping him pick up the clothes he had come here wearing, “can you wait a minute? i have something for you.”

“Of course.” 

Handing over a stray sock as he crosses the room, Rus goes digging in one of his drawers. Edge politely averts his eyes down to the mattress, even though the chaos his brief glance revealed makes him fondly annoyed.

“aha!” With the victorious expression of someone who has found a winning lottery ticket, Rus holds out a business card. The card itself is rather unassuming; the background is rather plain, printed in a pale mint green. A closer look reveals three lines of text: a doctor’s name, an email address, and a phone number.

“it’s, uh, for a therapist. you don’t have to call if you don’t want to,” he quickly explains. “but going there, having someone who listens without judgement and is trained to help, it… it’s been helping me. a lot. maybe you and red could give it a try? if you want.” Lowering his head, his cheeks light up in a bright blush. “it would also give us a good excuse to see each other more often,” he mumbles.

Tempting. “I’ll.” He pauses, breathing. Almost, he can’t bring himself to say yes; even though more than a little bit of him desperately approves of the principle, the idea of opening up to a complete stranger, and a human at that… “I’ll call them,” he says firmly, mostly to convince himself. If he leaves it up in the air, he’s far too likely to shove the card in his inventory and forget about it — or worse, destroy it completely out of prideful contempt.

“really?” Rus perks up, and for that alone, Edge promises himself to make a call. “again, you don’t have to. it’s not, like, a condition of us being a thing, or a payment for staying the night or whatever.”

Taking the card into his hands, Edge nods. “I know.”

They leave it there as Rus escorts him down to the machine. He types in the coordinates, waiting for it to boot up. The portal pops into existence faster than it usually does, thrumming with static.

“so…” Rus moves his hands in and out of his pockets. Slouched into his hoodie, he doesn’t look as tall. “guess this is it then, huh?”

“Not quite.” With a deep breath, Edge takes a step towards Rus, away from the portal. Running a thumb across the smoothness of his jaw, he leans in. “May I?”

“yeah.”

Their goodbye kiss could be described in a word as tender. Undemanding, they shuffle closer, arms wrapping around the other as they embrace. 

‘Thank you,” Edge whispers against Rus’ mouth. “For everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> Again, please let me know if there's anything I missed tagging.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time.


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